Wild Horses Will Run Free
by Arainia
Summary: Short story. At a summer workshop, Ginger discovers the truth about Miranda’s mother and she also learns why Courtney’s right-hand girl hates her so much.
1. Chapter 1

Miranda Killgallen had never been so utterly humiliated in her life; not only was she spending the day with her crazy aunt Titi- her father's younger sister and the furthest thing from "maternal" one could ever hope to be- she was being dragged along to some heinous "mother-daughter" workshop that she had no business being at. Titi was not her mother- thank goodness for that- and she had much better things to do with her Saturday afternoons than attend some dorky knitting class.

"Chin up, Merdea!" Titi said enthusiastically as the two of them trooped down the hall of the community's recreation centre to get to hell- err, the knitting class.

"My name is _Miranda_." The thirteen-year-old eighth grader corrected through clenched teeth; Merdea was her mother's name.

"Oops! Sorry, Miranda. It's just that you look so much like her." Titi trilled, half-skipping, half-bouncing the next few steps. Today she was outfitted in a black dress with several thick, bejewelled golden chains around her neck (how she could wear that in the humid summer weather was beyond Miranda, but the girl was secretly hoping her aunt would melt in a puddle of her own sweat). Miranda shot her aunt a glare for that last comment before Titi pushed open the door of room 602: the knitting class.

Miranda advanced into the room cautiously while Titi swept right in; acting as though she owned the place. Her espresso-brown hair was nothing more than a giant frizz ball atop her head and the bright pink lipstick decorating her pouty mouth made her look like a hooker who was temporarily out-of-work. Miranda suppressed a groan of misery and shuffled into the room, it made her feel as if she was back at school.

Miranda's sharp, dark eyes darted around the classroom, taking in all the mother-daughter pairs. The youngest was probably a twenty-something-year-old and a baby that couldn't have been more than a year. The infant was crying, her face all red and wrinkled as she wailed. Miranda smirked.

_I feel ya, kid._

And then her wandering eyes caught sight of red hair. Frizzy, dark red hair. Familiar hair. _Ginger Foutley_ hair.

Just then the girl in question looked up, meeting Miranda's hostile glare with her own uncertain, wavering one. Miranda shot her a hollow smile before her aunt summoned her to the pair of desks she'd found. At once the teen's expression changed, she grudgingly pulled out the seat beside her eccentric relative and lay her head down on the desk with a resounding _thump!_

Miranda groaned. The Foutley girls' heads were obstructing her view.

_Stupid Dad for enrolling me in this mindless class. Stupid Aunt Titi. Stupid red hair. Stupid Ginger and her stupid collection of stupid plastic ponies. Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Another weekend into the class and Miranda was ready to run away and change her name to something inconspicuous so that her father wouldn't be able to track her down. Titi was, of course, a livewire just crackling with energy. She didn't seem to notice that Miranda wasn't taking fondly to the whole idea of "bonding" with her (either that or she just didn't care), and she kept addressing her by Merdea.

Halfway into the class, Phillipa (the instructor) decided that it was time to "switch things up". While the others may have been oblivious to Miranda's poorly-concealed discomfiture, she'd been keeping track of it. She knew the girl wasn't interested in this at all and she figured that it was time to change tactics to get her to pay attention.

"I want everyone to grab a pencil from that cup over there," Phillipa nodded at the wide-rimmed coffee mug that served as a pencil and pen holder in the back corner of the room. "I'll be handing out pieces of paper. Once you're done, we'll mix up the names and choose your new partners for today's class." While the females shuffled about to retrieve a writing utensil and get back to their desks, Phillipa ripped up a piece of foolscap paper with her fingers and passed a scrap around to each of her pupils. Once they'd all written their names down, she borrowed a hat (Titi had a plastic fireman's hat stowed away in her bag. God knows why) and dumped the scraps of paper into the bowl. Phillipa grinned at the small crowd, closed her eyes, and plunged her hand in.

Miranda peered at the teacher through narrowed eyes. _Please don't give me Foutley. I can't handle that whiny snot-nosed loser._

Ginger was sitting ramrod straight in her seat, praying to God (or whoever might be up there listening) that she and Miranda would not be paired together. _I hope it's not Miranda. She's going to eat me alive!_

Phillipa pulled out the first two names, cocking her head and squinting at the names scrawled down.

_Miranda and Titi_.

Well, that just simply wouldn't do! Smiling a secret smile, Phillipa turned her big brown eyes back to the class and called out the first "randomly selected" duo.

"Miranda and Ginger!" She called, observing Ginger's subsequent flinch and Miranda's growl of infuriation. "Well," she eyed them both expectantly. "Don't just stand there girls! Take your seats!"

Titi jumped out of her chair quickly and offered it to Ginger, whose "thank you" smile came out as more of an "oh shit" grimace. The redheaded girl took her new spot gingerly, slanting a timid look at her long-time antagonist.

"Don't. Even. Speak." Miranda grumbled, slamming her head down on the desk once more- Ginger winced, that had to hurt- not a word more was exchanged between the two as the rest of the partners were picked.

**AsToldByGinger**

"… I don't know, Mom. The whole point of this class was so that _you _and_ I_ could bond. Last time I checked, me being paired with my worst enemy didn't count as 'Mommy and Me' time." Ginger Foutley expressed her concerns to her mother that night as she helped set the table for dinner (beef penne pasta casserole).

Lois only snorted at her daughter's objections. "Don't you think you're being a bit overdramatic?"

"You don't know Miranda." Ginger intoned wearily; she'd never been very good with confrontation. Girls like Miranda Killgallen ripped her to shreds on a regular basis. "It's my summer vacation; I shouldn't have to see her."

"See who?" Carl Foutley, Ginger's younger brother, interposed as he stepped into the kitchen. His clothes- a costly Zoo York hoodie and baggy pants- were stained with a coal-black substance that smelled sickly-sweet. Lois raised an eyebrow at her youngest; Carl had a reputation for being the family's "mad scientist". He and his best friend Hoodsey spent a lot of their time in Carl's "secret laboratory" of sorts (it was actually the doghouse of their old pet, Monster).

"Miranda," Ginger frowned. "What's on your shirt, Carl?" She pinched her nose for emphasis.

"Hoodsey and I were doing some exploring by the dump. Dwayne gave us a ride in his garbage truck." Carl grinned and Lois shook her head in an exasperated manner.

"I don't even want to know." She intoned, she knew better than to pry into the life of her youngest, what with all the outrageous schemes he had bubbling in his twisted brain. "Go wash up before we eat."

"Sure thing Lois." Carl saluted her before dashing over to the counter, picking a glob off the casserole, and sticking it in his gaping mouth. Before Lois could reprimand him, he'd sped off to the washroom to clean up.

"Ugh." Lois sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Do you think Phillipa will switch it back to the way it was next weekend?" Ginger wondered with more than just a trace of hopefulness in her voice. Lois regarded her preteen with an even gaze, seeing how truly anxious this new partnership with Miranda was making her.

"I don't know, Ginge." She responded honestly. "What gives you reason to think that this Miranda girl is so bad, anyway?"

"Mom, are you _kidding_ me? She's been terrorizing me since the sixth grade! She hates me!"

"Hate's a strong emotion, I mean; you girls aren't even in high school." Lois pointed out, placing the glass pan holding their dinner on the table. "Do you hate her?"

Ginger thought about this as she sat down; Lois cut her a square of casserole. "I don't know." The girl responded, chewing thoughtfully. "She definitely scares me, but I don't know if I hate her."

Lois sighed. "Look, Ginge, it's not my place to say anything… but until you've walked a mile in Miranda's shoes, you'll never know what her life is like."

"What?"

"Miranda's got difficulties at home, Ginge."

"How do you know? And what kind of difficulties are you talking about here?"

Lois only speared a piece of casserole and shoved it into her waiting mouth; she was pressed for time again today. Her shift at the hospital started at exactly six o'clock and ended at a quarter to one.

"Mom?"

"Look, Ginge, I've heard some of the gossip from the rumour mill. But it could mean nothing… just be _nice_ to her, alright? She may not seem like it, but deep down that girl is hurting."

"Huh." Ginger considered this. _Miranda? Hurting?_ _What could she be suffering from? The fact that Courtney was maybe starting to prefer Ginger's company over hers? The fact that Ian Richton was not interested in her?_

But Lois spoke not a word more on the subject, and by that time Carl had emerged from the bathroom smelling like citrus Lysol. Ginger let out one of her typical "confused by life" teenaged sighs and finished up her dinner. After she'd cleaned up, she went to her bedroom to write a lengthy entry in her diary…. She had no idea what obstacles her archenemies had to face, and now she was curious as to what was going on in Miranda's life. Ginger sat up in her bedroom with her pen lying, uncapped beside her on the bed and her diary open to a fresh page in her lap.

_Maybe I should just be nice to her…_ Ginger thought, _Mom's right, I don't know much about her. For all I know she could be experiencing something really awful!_ Ginger shook her head and retrieved her pen; she couldn't let her mind jump around too much.

The following weekend, Ginger Foutley arrived in room 602 with a big, optimistic smile on her face. Phillipa greeted both she and Lois with a cheery wave and the redheaded duo found their own desks. Lois was carrying the big plaid purse with all of their knitting supplies. Ginger gazed around the room, wondering where Miranda was. She knew the mean girl preferred to arrive "fashionably late" but most of Phillipa's students were there already and she was starting to explain the basics of knitting a blanket. Eventually, Ginger started to relax… she wouldn't have to face Miranda after all!

"Sorry we're late!" Titi yelled as she bounced jovially through the door with a sullen Miranda skulking behind her. "I had car troubles!" She announced to the whole of the class. The infant in the corner started crying; her mother scooped her up from her carrier and tried shushing her, shooting Titi a dirty look in the process. But the frizzy-haired woman took no notice as she claimed a desk and folded her hands overtop of the wooden surface primly as if she were no more harmless than an obedient schoolgirl.

"You girls are late." Phillipa stated the obvious. "But that's alright, I'm sure your new partners will fill you in on everything I've already covered." She shot Ginger a swift smile and the youth gulped nervously in reply. She had to be the one to dictate instructions? Miranda wasn't going to like that very much!

Once things had settled down and Miranda and Ginger were seated next to each other, the redhead inhaled deeply (it wasn't easy, talking to your worst enemy!) and started to reiterate Phillipa's instructions. Miranda turned to her sharply, her dark eyes filled with unsuppressed hatred.

"Save it, Foutley!" She snarled. "I can figure this thing out by myself!" She looked down at the heap of tangled pink yarn resting on her lap and picked it up. Ginger turned away quickly, though through the corner of her eye she could see Miranda struggling with doing anything productive to the yarn at all.

"Are you sure you don't want some he-"

"Quiet, Foutley!" Miranda seethed, grabbing the shapeless mass of yarn and squeezing it between her fingers. "I know what I'm doing!"

"Okay then." Ginger rolled her eyes and went back to her own work, avoiding conversation with her partner for the rest of the day.

_This was going to be a long day._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: I posted the first chapter without any additional notes or explanations; I was just anxious to get it up on the site and I had people coming over so I just kind of skipped over that whole "introductory note" thing. What was the point of this? I'm not sure, really. Oh, and this chapter hasn't been spell-checked, so if you catch any errors, I apologize.

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**The following weekend, Phillipa brought a "special guest" that she hoped would give the girls an incentive to really get into their knitting. The invitee happened to be the youngest of Phillipa's four sons, Gregory. Phillipa hated to brag but she would concede (to herself, her boyfriend, and most of the people within her immediate family) that she and her late husband had produced one fine piece of ass. All of her sons were attractive, of course, but Gregory looked like a model with a tall figure, prominent muscles, tousled dark blonde hair and opaque navy blue eyes.

In short: Gregory was a poster pin-up, and the perfect person to get Phillipa's students motivated. Especially the teenagers- or more specifically, Miranda.

When the women filed into the classroom, all looking wilted thanks to the intense humidity outside, their eyes all gravitated towards Gregory. He smiled at each one with charming courtesy, and even waved at the mother with the baby. It was clear that all of these women wished they'd put more thought into their appearance but in former weeks the knitting class had been a haven for women; with a male as solid and good-looking as Gregory, it was as though their sanctum had somehow been breached. Phillipa chuckled to herself; the lesson hadn't even started and already the girls were squirming about anxiously. This was the first time Phillipa could ever remember having such a restless class.

Ginger, to her credit, tried her very hardest not to ogle so openly at Gregory's physique. She contended herself with staring into her lap and imagining what _could_ happen between the two if she were just a little older, and just a little more aggressive. Like Miranda.

Speaking of Miranda…

As if on cue, the door creaked open and Titi pranced in first- as always- with Miranda shuffling in last. As always, Phillipa reprimanded them for being so late.

"Look, lady-" Miranda began in a sharp voice, raising her head. "I don't even want to be-" when her hawk's eyes fell upon Gregory, she halted, mid-tangent. And then she just stared. Phillipa smirked.

"Class, this is my son Gregory Darrow. Gregory, this is the fine group of ladies I was telling you about."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all." Gregory sent Miranda a fleeting smile before turning his attention on the class- the new mother in particular looked ready to attack him and give into her most carnal desires. The post-pregnancy hormones combined with the heat must've been driving her a little nuts.

"Miranda, Titi, will you please take your seats?" Phillipa gestured to both of their individual spots and Titi beamed, grabbing her surprisingly dazed niece's elbow.

"Come on, Merdea!" She urged brightly. Miranda snapped out of her stupor and fixed her aunt with a cold glare.

"It's _Miranda_!" She rectified brusquely, yanking her trapped appendage out of Titi's grasp and flouncing over to her seat. She sat down with a pointed thump and Titi, oblivious as ever, floated away.

Phillipa's plan did not work as well as she'd first anticipated; rather than encourage the girls to knit, Gregory's potent prescence proved distracting. Most of them admired him openly and quickly looked away before he could catch them, giggling behind their hands and whispering. It was as if they were all back in high school. Ginger was mortified to see that her mother was practically mentally undressing him telling the woman beside her some sort of crude sex joke about what she'd do to him if they were locked in a closet together.

"Ouch!" A low hiss from beside her made Ginger look Miranda's way to see that the girl had accidentally pricked herself with a needle. "What are you looking at, Foutley?"

"Same thing as you are." Ginger was surprised at her placid response, jerking her head toward Gregory who was leaning against the desk and conversing with his mother.

Miranda grinned slyly, slanting the male a lascivious look. "Mhmm, he's hot."

"I think everybody here agrees with you." Ginger offered timidly. Miranda made a 'humph' nose, flicking her head the other way. Ginger was more surprised than she should've been by the snub- until she realized that the hottie in question was looking at her, and she, like a fool, was staring right at him!

The red-haired girl quickly looked down, almost dropping her yarn in her haste to appear busy. From beside her, Miranda let out a low ripple of laughter.

"Smooth, Foutley." She muttered, though not in a mean way. Ginger's cheeks burned and she chanced a peek through her eyelashes; Gregory was still looking at them.

"Looks as if he likes you, Foutley." Miranda observed.

"What?!" Ginger whispered incredeoulously, "no. I-I don't think so."

"Jeez, calm down. I was only kidding- like a man that fine would ever show an interest in _you_." Ah, there was the Miranda Ginger knew and… tolerated for Courtney's sake.

"Maybe he's looking at you." Ginger suggested with a thin smile.

"It's possible."

Ginger's mouth fell open a little at that- how could Miranda be so conceited?

"Again, I was _kidding_. Clearly you have no sense of humour."

"I-"

"If he was looking at me with any sort of sexual intent, he could probably get arrested or something since I'm jailbait."

"Uh…"

"Wow, Foutley, you're dull." Miranda sighed impatiently and Ginger cursed her apparent slow-wittedness. It was girls like Miranda, who reeked of authority and confidence and designer perfume, that moved ahead in life. Girls like Miranda always got the best of everything- including boys. Ginger was too timid to be confident or authoritative, and there was no way that her mother's pay cheque would support the expense of overly-priced celebrity fragrances. Girls like Ginger would always be left with "sloppy seconds". The thought made irrational tears well up in her eyes.

"Ugh, Foutley!" Miranda sounded disgusted. "Are you crying?"

"No." Ginger blinked away the moisture so as not to draw any attention to herself. "I had an eyelash in my eye."

"Sure you did."

"How's it coming, girls?" Both of their heads shot up, and their eyes widened when they saw Gregory, hovering over them with a Crest toothpaste commercial smile on his chiselled face.

Ginger blushed, hating the fact that her tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of her mouth. "Good." She said quietly.

"Awful!" Miranda declared viciously. "I _despise_ knitting!" The tone of her voice made Ginger flinch and scoot her chair backwards, but Gregory didn't look very put out. His mother had filled him in on Miranda's 'situation' before class began and, since Gregory was going through school to become an elementary school teacher, he'd learned that the best way to deal with kids was to react with patience and understanding- even if he really didn't understand what made Miranda so ornery.

"You want some help?" Gregory offered blithely, "when I was younger my mother taught me to knit."

"Sure." Miranda was only _just_ hiding her self-satisfaction. Ginger gasped, wondering if her outburst had been part of a ploy to earn Gregory's attention. What did it really matter anyway? He was much older than Ginger, even if he'd been in her age range she had the sinking suspicion that he'd be out of her league. He'd probably go for someone more like the dark-skinned girl he was tending to now.

Life was just _so_ unfair.

Ginger worked in silence, contemplating the deeper mysteries of the universe- like why she couldn't ever get a hot guy to notice her, for instance. She figured that maybe the universe was biased, good things just didn't suddenly happen to good people (as Ginger had naively believed for the past thirteen years); it was like being picked to play on the basketball team at recess. Only the big, strong, powerful kids got picked first- and there were some kids who never got picked at all, who would always have to wait on the sidelines watching others bask in their glory. Ginger's fingers itched for a pen. She could probably write an excellent poem about her feelings right now- how unfortunate that she was stuck in this knitting class.

"Ugh." She let the jumble of yarn fall and rested her chin on the desk in front of her- why bother working? It wasn't as if she enjoyed knitting, and it wasn't a score that was going onto her report card.

"Do you need help?" Gregory's voice made her lift her head and her cheeks spot with colour.

"I… sure I guess." Could she _be_ more lame? Obviously she wanted some TLC! But Ginger wasn't stupid enough to just allow Gregory to assist her- she watched Miranda's face, waiting for the other female to glare at her or mouth 'back off!' but the darker girl did nothing. She didn't even flinch.

Gregory helped Ginger set up an easy, steady rhythm with her needles, placing his hands overtop of hers. By the time he finally let go to see how Miranda was progressing, Ginger's hands were warm and still prickling from the sensation of being held.

"Are you getting the hang of this, Merdea?" Titi's voice called from the back of the room; Ginger rotated in her seat to look at the older woman. She had a feeling Titi was eccentric (who carried a plastic fireman helmet in their purse?) but as Miranda's escort to the class, shouldn't she at least know her name?

Miranda stabbed Gregory with a knitting needle. "It's _Miranda_!" She snapped, pushing her chair backwards (slamming it into poor Gregory) and stomping out of the classroom. An eerie hush fell over the women in the room, not even the baby dared to cry.

"Ginge," Lois looked at her offspring pointedly.

"Yeah, I've got it." Ginger sighed heavily, knowing that her mother probably wanted her to be noble and check on Miranda's well-being. Sure, having someone forget your name was irritating but it wasn't something to get _that_ upset over.

Ginger stood slowly and reluctantly made her way out of the room, unaware that Phillipa was smiling (she'd hoped the two girls would form some sort of friendship) and her mother was, too. As for Titi… she remained clueless to the reason that Miranda had taken off, chalking it up to an overflow of teenaged hormones. She resumed her needlework without a second thought.

Ginger walked down the hall, every step she took against the community centre's tile echoed, bouncing off the walls. She wasn't even really sure why she was doing this- after all, Miranda would never seek her out to lend a helping hand. But then, Ginger thought, perhaps that was one of the big differences between she and her adversary; she was capable of compassion and empathy while Miranda lived only to serve herself.

Shaking her head, Ginger pushed open the door to the girl's lavatory and found it empty. She sighed and bent her head to check underneath each stall, not surprised when she discovered Miranda's purple flip-flops peeking out from beneath the third to last cubicle.

"Miranda?" Ginger straightened up, clearing her throat awkwardly. "Uh, are you okay?"

"_Foutley_? Oh my God. You've _got_ to be kidding me… why the hell are you here?!" She demanded rudely. Ginger's rarely-seen temper flared.

"I came to check up on you. See if you were alright. Not many people throw silly tantrums after others mispronounce their name."

"She didn't mispronounce it!" Miranda exclaimed indignantly, bursting out of the stall…. Was it just the cheap fluorescent lighting flickering above their heads or did Miranda's eye makeup look smudged? "She's called me Merdea since I was little! She's _stupid_!"

"Oh." Ginger said quietly.

"Yeah, _oh_." Miranda scowled and shoved past her to get to one of the sinks, twisting the tap and throwing the permanently lukewarm water into her face to freshen up. "Don't assume you know everything, Foutley."

"My name's Ginger."

Miranda snorted, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and drying off. "It's not like I _care_ what your name is, Pony Girl." She scoffed, and left Ginger standing there in shock.

**AsToldByGinger**

That evening, after changing into her nightclothes and bidding her mom and brother goodnight, Ginger went up to her room and stood before her shelf of pony and horse figurines. _What was wrong with horses?_ Everything, if you wanted to fit in with the "cool" crowd, or at least stop them from ragging on you all the time.

Sighing, Ginger let her eyes rove over each statue, mentally naming the horse breeds as she did so. _American cream draft horse, American mustang, American saddle bred, Camargue, Chicksaw Pony…_

Ginger sighed and turned away, clambering onto the bed and pulling back the covers. Miranda's attitude was grating on her nerves; she now dreaded her Saturdays instead of savouring them. She stared up at the ceiling, mentally running through a list of excuses that could get her out of going to next week's class. Gregory probably wouldn't be there, and she'd have nothing to divert her from Miranda's cruelness. Maybe she could just plead with her mother… but she knew Lois would never stand for that. Ginger's mother didn't exactly 'believe' in letting other people bully her or her daughter. Probably because in her youth, she was one of the cool "tough" kids.

_Well, _Ginger thought before her eyes closed, _if worst comes to worst I'll just have to swallow my pride and eat some of that gross orange stuff Carl's been growing in his clubhouse._

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**So there you have it! Please send me some feedback and let me know how I'm doing with this so far.  
Thanks for reading!**


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